


Of Needing and Fearing

by SheepOh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Panic Attacks, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheepOh/pseuds/SheepOh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John gets stabbed during a case, the fear of losing him lets Sherlock's mouth loose, making him reveal previously concealed feelings, regardless of the consequences.</p>
<p>(Inspired by the Three Garridebs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Needing and Fearing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moony818](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moony818/gifts).



John never thought the delinquent they were after would actually do it. They never had the guts. This one had an advantage though; he panicked. The ex-soldier employed his usual tactics. He tried talking him into dropping the weapon, approaching him slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as he could. Then, suddenly, he launched himself at the man to disarm him. Often, the surprise would do most of the job, making his opponents drop whatever they were holding and he'd only wrestle them to make sure they couldn't get their hands back on it. 

That's not how it went this time. As he reached the man, John felt a punch-like sensation on his shoulder but stayed focused on trying to locate the knife. After a bout of wrestling, it was obvious it was already out of both their reach so he pushed himself back on his feet, ready to spin his opponent around and handcuff him. The other followed. As soon as he was back up, he threw a wide-eyed look at him and ran as if he had seen the ghost of his evil mother. John was about to set after him when he heard Sherlock scream his name, more distressed than the bark he'd normally use to make him follow. When he turned to see what was wrong, he only saw horror on his face. 

Following his gaze, he saw it easily, the knife he had been looking for, firmly planted in his own shoulder. His brain caught up and sent waves of pain through him. A sinking sensation appeared in his stomach. His legs trembled and his friend was by his side, wrapping long arms around him just in time. He couldn't breathe. Images of war filled his mind, of getting shot in that same shoulder. He felt as horribly as he always felt waking up from those godforsaken nightmares that still sometimes haunted his sleep, only this was more intense, now that the sharp pain was real, physical, not just a memory that he could rationalize away. John could barely register the Yarders passing them by, running after the suspect, or Sherlock begging for help. The detective lowered them to the ground. The blogger was gripping onto his shoulders firmly, obviously in great pain. His breathing was growing harsh and uneven. 

Sherlock tried to think fast, assess what could be happening to John, what could be his injuries, what he should do: _Stab wound to the left shoulder, nerves and joint possibly severed, could make him lose the use of his left arm, his dominant one, important artery also possibly severed, bleeding seems under control for the moment, must not remove the blade to avoid any major hemorrhage, high probability of a punctured lung, by a bone or the blade itself, difficult breathing seems to confirm the theory, wound possibly lethal._ His thoughts all fled at that last word, leaving only this terrifying one. 

_Lethal. No._

''John, oh God, John, John, John'', he kept on repeating. 

The ex-soldier wanted to say something, snap out of it. He knew from the look on the other's face he should try to reassure him, but he couldn't. For Christ sake, he had trouble just breathing. He couldn't focus, he felt dizzy and as if his heart would beat out of his chest.The pain was too great, as was the confusion and the terror of he didn't even know what. He was shaking now. 

''Please stay with me John'', Sherlock pleaded, ''You're going to be alright. Please John.'' 

He couldn't answer him, tell him he would be alright, not to worry. He was starting to grow weak, affected by the pain and the shock, and so many things he just couldn’t process right now. He squeezed Sherlock's shoulder hard and slid his hand to his cheek. He seemed so afraid, so vulnerable, but John couldn't help him. He swallowed hard and let his hand back down. Staying awake was proving difficult at the moment. He heard sirens approaching. It would all be fine, someone would be able to tell Sherlock. He shut his eyes, it wasn't like he could see all that well anyway. He could still faintly hear Sherlock's voice, as if he were underwater. 

''John, please, stay with me. I need you. Please John! Don't leave me. You're the only one who matters. You need to stay.'' 

His voice was quiet, loud enough only for him to hear, but firm. Clear anguish was slipping through his every word. 

''You can't leave me, John. Please stay with me. I need you. John-'' 

He couldn't do anything. His consciousness was leaving him. 

 

Sherlock rushed in the ambulance with him, holding his hand all the way to the hospital, letting go of it only when the staff forced him to. 

They didn't yet know the damage the blade had done. They had to act fast. 

His emotions must have been written all over him as a nurse gently took Sherlock by the arm and helped him sit in the waiting room. He was helpless. He didn't know what to do with himself. He was paralyzed by too many too strong emotions all flooding him at once. They were like a waterfall hiding and blocking the entrance to his mind palace. 

Sometime later, he really didn't know how long, Lestrade rushed into the room. 

''How's he?'' 

Sherlock only shrugged, but his eyes must have exposed what was truly going on in his mind as the inspector sobered his expression and sat next to him, putting his kind and reassuring father air on. 

''By the way, thanks. We caught the guy.'' 

He waited, cautiously eyeing Sherlock, waiting for something that would give his emotional state away. Usually, that would be when he'd make a remark about the Yard’s incompetence and insult them all, explaining how each of them had missed different and so obvious things. But nothing came. 

''He's going to be fine Sherlock. He's a fighter. You know it. You know him. He wouldn't leave you.'' 

Again, no reaction came. He put his arms around the other’s shoulders and pulled him towards himself. 

''Come here'' 

Sherlock let his head fall on the offered shoulder and, maybe, the warmth of another living being, even if not the one he wished for, unlocked something in his chest and, maybe, a few tears were let out. 

 

When a surgeon came out, a few hours later, they were both sitting in their own chairs, looking straight ahead in silence. They got up and the man smiled at them. 

''Your friend was very lucky. He's going to be fine.'' 

The DI let out a sigh of relief but promptly said ''Knew it'' nudging Sherlock, who had regained some life in his features but still didn't look completely like himself. 

''The visits are technically over and he needs rest, but I think you'll be able to see him for a few minutes if you want to, though he probably won't be awake yet'' 

''Yes, please.'', Sherlock answered quickly, almost not letting the man finish his sentence. 

 

They made him fill in a few papers and then led him to John's room. Lestrade had already taken his leave. As the doctor had warned, he was deep asleep but Sherlock didn't mind. He was content to just observe him, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath, reassuring him that he was still there. He hadn't gone. 

He should've left a few minutes later, but with a tantrum and a few well placed deductions he managed to get permission to stay the night, and held his hand through it, waiting, guarding. 

 

''Sherlock?'', a sluggish voice asked, when the sun had risen. 

''John! You're awake.'' 

He beamed, receiving a still sleepy smile in return. 

''Well, hello'' John said, squeezing the hand that still held his, a mistake apparently. 

It was as if he had electrocuted Sherlock. His eyes widened and he abruptly took his hand away. 

''Sorry'', Sherlock supplied. 

''I don't mind'' 

He tried making his features reassuring, a faint smile on his lips. He knew his friend was still disturbed by what had happened or almost happened. He wanted to make it right to him but, before he could say anything, they were interrupted by the doctor's entrance. 

''Ah, Mr. Watson, already awake. That's good, very good.'', he said, taking the charts at the end of the bed and flipping through them. ''You are a very lucky man. The stab wound is mostly superficial. A few minor arteries were reattached but no organs nor any major nerve endings were touched, so there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. It mostly just hurts a lot. We'll keep an eye on you for another 24 hours but I'm afraid after that we'll have to drug you up and let you go home with orders to rest. It should all heal on it's own. How does that sound?'' 

''Sounds good to me.'' 

 

Sherlock excused himself a few moments after the doctor's departure, only to return the next morning with a clean shirt for John. It was Mrs. Hudson's idea, not his, but still, the effort to actually go forth with it was greatly appreciated, as was his help to put it, and the arm sling he'd be stuck in for a few weeks, on. He had witnessed the nurse's speech on the proper care for the wound and the medications to take and all the usual boring discharge explanations. He had even promised to help and keep an eye on John. 

''Tea?'', the blond man asked almost as soon as they got in the flat. 

''Please'' 

He made it, humming softly, before setting it on the low table in front of their couch. He sat and patted the space next to him for Sherlock to sit. He fidgeted a bit, as if unsure of what he wanted to do, looked at the way leading to the privacy of his bedroom, but obliged anyway. 

They took a few sips in silence. 

'' Scared you a bit, didn't I? '' 

'' Yes '' 

'' I’m sorry. That shoulder, it’s a bit of a sensitive thing, bad memories and all. I panicked... '' 

'' I understand. '' 

'' What you said when it happened—‘’ 

'' I don't remember talking. It must have been the shock that made you think I did.'' 

'' Sherlock, you're always talking when you get nervous, because, _yes_ , you do and you were. I was confused but not hallucinating. I'm not sure my imagination could have come up with that anyway.'' 

There was a silence. Sherlock looked uncomfortable, even slightly apprehensive of what John would say next. He didn't dare look at him, he always could read way too much in his face and at that moment he thought it might be better not to know. 

'' It was quite emotional, for you, I mean. People usually blabber nonsense when someone’s hurt, but you... You never say anything that seems useless. Did you mean it, then? All that? About me? '' 

Sherlock swallowed but didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what he would be admitting to if he said he did or what John would think he was admitting to. Nor how he would take the admission. The uncertainty closed his throat with fear of the less favorable options. 

John took a deep breath. He was nervous about what he’d say next but Sherlock looked even more nervous and that made him think that maybe he hadn’t been the only one struggling and he'd better put them both out of their misery. 

'' If you meant it, about needing me, it's okay, you know, and about being, uh, the only that matters. You’re very unique to me too. I mean, our relationship, it’s not something I would have with anyone else. It’s special to you only, because you’re...special, to me, I guess. I’m not very articulate. It’s a bit hard. Um, I think what I really want to say is, I know you said you were married to your work, but if you somehow changed your mind, well, that’s okay too. '' 

There was still no answer and it was starting to really worry John who looked at him more intently. 

'' Sherlock? Is that it?'' 

It took a little more waiting but the detective nodded his head rapidly, nervously. 

'' Okay. Good.'', he sighed in relief. 

He slid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. 

'' Sherlock, look at me? '' 

He did, finally. 

'' I don’t know what I'm supposed to say... '' 

'' Well, that’s a first! '',John chuckled, '' Just tell me what you want.'' 

'' You. I want you. I want to be with you. I want you to be with me, no one else, just me. I’m tired of having you always so close to me but always getting snatched away. It’s so unfair! I want to be the one to snatch you away from others. I want to be the one you come home to, really come home to. I want to be home to you. ''He stopped himself, worry and self-consciousness making its way through his features.'' Is it too much? '' 

'' No! God no. It’s fine. It’s perfect. I want that too. I really do.'' 

John slid his hand higher to rest on Sherlock’s neck, his thumb gently rubbing his cheek. He was beautiful like this, leaning in his touch. 

'' Can I? '', he asked, his intent clear in his eyes. 

Sherlock nodded and held still for John to come to him. John leaned in, using his hand to pull Sherlock forward, and their lips met. It was tender at first, rather shy, but it grew more confident, greedier. Their lips, their teeth and their tongues were smashing against each other by the time they had to separate, John losing his poor balance, due to his immobilized arm, and gracelessly falling on Sherlock, unbalancing him too. Their heads bumped together. John had one arm stuck under Sherlock and the other, the bad one, between them. This way, he couldn't move. He was stuck there. Unable to push himself back up, he did the only thing he was able to, he laughed. Sherlock quickly joined him, both heartily laughing, until John's shoulder started protesting. Then, Sherlock helped John sit back but didn't let go quite this fast, stealing another, shorter kiss from him, just because he could. 

'' I need a shower '', John grunted. 

'' You do. '' 

'' Are you saying you think I smell? '', he asked playfully. 

'' You do. You smell like hospital. '' 

'' True. Point taken. Help me? I am missing the use of an arm.'' 

'' Of course.'' 

He helped him get the arm sling, his shirt and his trouser off but let him do the rest himself. Still, it didn't stop him from touching as much of John's skin as he could, stealing kisses here and there. John did the same to what little of his skin was exposed, his cheeks, his lips, his jaw, his nose, his neck. Getting two pieces of clothing off took longer than the shower itself did. When he got out of it, only wearing pajama bottoms, they were the easiest to put on one handed, he sat with a book in his chair opposite his detective's and stretched his legs, letting them rest on it, his feet digging in Sherlock's thigh. They spent the night this way until sleep called him back to his room. They kissed goodnight and parted, Sherlock researching god knew what and John going to bed, where he mused about how maybe it wouldn't be all that different than being friends and flatmate, but it did feel different. There was no more hiding, no more repressing, no more holding back, no more fearing. It would be similar but it would be better. He hardly could wait to see him again the next morning, their first together as a couple, one of many to come.


End file.
